


Scared to Sleep

by Giggles96



Series: Big Bad World [3]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Cute, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, fear of the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giggles96/pseuds/Giggles96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer wakes up to a darkened room and freaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scared to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly did not think I would write any more for this story, but I promised myself that should I reach 100 favs, I'd give it a go, and lo and behold - whaddya know. So please enjoy this short little one-shot as a thank-you for being so awesome and taking the time to read my humble story.
> 
> Disclaimer: these characters do not belong to me.

_Cold, as you turn off the lights_

_And memories start floating around_

_You're doubting yourself_

_And you're tired of not being strong_

* * *

CMCMCMCM

* * *

_It hurts to be all on your own_

_But you'll just have to wait_

_Cause time's running fast_

_And it calms you know it won't last_

* * *

_It's a coat,_ he reminds himself. Just a flaccid, beige coat. He chucked it over the lip of the bed yesterday in a sprint of laziness after an painfully stretched flight and he hasn't thought to stash it away since.

It's a coat. It shouldn't be a problem. It shouldn't have to cross his mind to hide the heavy material out of sight. He should stop being such a cry baby. He should roll over, crush his eyes shut and grow the hell up.

No monsters. No serial killers.

_A silly coat._

Everybody knows monsters are for children.

But no matter any which way he chooses to phrase it, to tell himself over _and over_ again how insanely stupid and childish he's being, Reid can't shake the impression that _something_ is out there. Something's coming for him.

Stealing piercing, clipped breaths and mangling his bed sheets with firm, white fists, Reid hunches over his pillow and hugs his limbs close. His muscles are rigid, his heart is racing, his imagination runs unbound.

His nightlight gave up the ghost and his fears were soon rekindled, whilst any lingering capability for rationality was quickly and fluently smothered. All of his incisive genius thrown out the window in seconds.

Spencer is too afraid to poke his toes out through the blanket and step out into the frigid air of his apartment to turn up the heating. He's too scared to sacrifice the heat of his cocoon and risk the faculties of his arms in order to switch on a bedside lamp.

He's one of the greatest FBI's profilers and he's terrified to move even an inch.

If he doesn't move, then they can't get him. He'll be safe if only he stays put.

Tricked by the solid outline of a coat - hook, line and sinker.

* * *

_It's easy to say_

_It'll all be okay_

_That's always the way_

_It goes_

_So slow down_

_And you'll be okay_

* * *

CMCMCMCM

* * *

_Torn and lost once again_

_You start to believe it won't end_

_And still you're alone_

_With the fear that you're forever unknown_

* * *

It's hard to judge how much time passes before Reid's cell begins to buzz. Wracked with guilt, he ignores the late night (early morning?) call, unwilling to budge even for this.

And yet…He bites his lip. What if it's important?

What if one of his team members are in trouble? He'd never forgive himself.

Heaving himself upwards, the young agent blindly thrusts out his hand before he chickens out and gropes around his nightstand for his cell, making a pithy grab for the vibrating device and diving back under the security of his covers.

His voice is a mere whisper as answers and swallows around his swollen tongue, "H-hello?"

"Reid?" The voice is hard and cool and he recognises it instantly. "We've got a case. It's a tough one. We'll be gone for a week at minimum. Two at max. I'll be by soon to pick you up."

"Hotch…" Spencer baulks, fumbling for words around his suddenly congested throat. "I-I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Their fearless leader's reply is swift. "Is everything alright?"

"I mean…I'm, um-It's nothing. It's just that-"

"Are you at your place?"

"Uh, yeah-" He scratches the back of his neck and swipes stinging eyes over his darkened room, panic filling his chest yet again. "But, Hotch-"

"I'll be there in five." Then all he hears is the soft click as the blood rushes to his ears.

Oh, God. What is he gonna do? Hotch is on his way over and he's gonna be outed as a freakin' wuss who still can't contend with unidentified shadows that may or may not be harmless clothing. Not to mention, he hasn't had time to do laundry and none of his work clothes are clean. He's not packed, he's not ready, he's on the verge of hyperventilating at the thought of braving his cold, dark apartment even though it means _leaving_ his cold, dark apartment.

He's a joke.

A bag of crazy all wrapped up with a pretty little bow.

He can't do this. Why can't he just _not_ do this?

Why does he have to make things so difficult?

All too soon, he hears the sound of someone jimmying the handle and then the lock being turned, before a voice speckled with worry calls out, "Reid?"

"In-in here," he stammers, wrapping his arms around himself. Man, he feels like he's gonna puke.

The light flickers on above him, patches of brightness emerging on his quilt as Spencer grips it tighter. He feels the mattress dip downwards as Hotch presumably takes a seat and then it's silent for a moment as his boss hesitates in an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty. "Reid," he finally says. "Are you alright?"

"M-fine," he mumbles. "It's just-just-the dark…" Spencer trails off, worrying his bottom lip and scarcely daring to breathe.

He feels like an idiot.

Especially as Hotch makes a low noise of understanding and simply states, "I see."

The silence returns - thick and fast. And Reid can't bear it. Cringing on the inside, he plucks up the courage to peel back the duvet and peek up into Hotch's impassive face.

Criticism stabs at him, the shame is torturous, and suddenly, he can't hold it in any longer.

"I'm so sorry, Hotch," Reid gushes, "I'm such a wimp. I shouldn't have gotten so carried away. It was illogical and foolish and it won't happen ever again. I'll be more prepared next time. I won't little some stupid fear hold me back. I swear, I won't-"

"Reid, enough," Hotch interrupts, voice low and authoritative, yet indulgently gentle. "It's okay."

With those huge, unblinking brown eyes swimming with fear trained on him, there's no way Hotch can maintain his usual, impenetrable façade - It's like a punch to the gut.

"You suffer from a very common phobia - that'll all. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Eyes downcast, his breath hitches as he murmurs, "B-but I'm weak."

Hotch's heart gives a violent lurch.

God, this kid.

"You. Are. _Not_. Weak," he almost growls, gaze intensely earnest, willing his surrogate son to believe. "Spencer, you are one of the strongest people I know. Everyone has something they're afraid of. It's perfectly natural. I'm not judging you. I won't judge you, _ever_ , for being _human_. And neither will the rest of the team. We care for you very much, Spencer. And the last thing anybody wants is for you to beat yourself up over something in which you have no control over."

"I'm not a _child_ ," he almost spits, as if the word itself is diseased. "I shouldn't be afraid of something so juvenile as _the dark_."

"Spencer…" His gut clenches in sympathy and his voice is fierce. "I promise you, there is absolutely nothing juvenile about this. Nothing whatsoever. I don't think any less of you for it. Rossi and JJ and Morgan and Prentiss - they don't think any less of you for it. This is not shameful. It's not weak. And it is definitely, one-hundred percent _not your fault_. Do you understand?"

Nervously glancing up, Spencer's eyes lock with the older profiler's, and there's something in those dark depths that makes it impossible for him to disagree. Not right then, anyway.

He nods, voice cracking as he twiddles his thumbs and whispers, "Okay."

"Okay."

* * *

_You cannot understand_

_Why you're the one that gets hurt_

_Life's unfair but it pulls you back_

_In when you're almost gone_

* * *

CMCMCMCM

* * *

_It's easy to say_

_It'll all be okay_

_That's always the way_

_It goes_

_So slow down_

_And you'll be okay_

* * *

It's an hour later and they're on the jet, with Reid only recently having declared war against sleep.

"You can look over the case later, Spencer," Hotch is trying to persuade him - if you can even call it that. His tone is uncompromising and grim. "In the mean time, I believe it would be in your best interests to take a break. You're exhausted."

Furrowing tragic brows and angling his head ever so slightly sideways, Reid has no other option that to unleash the evil puppy-dog eyes of doom. " _Please_ , Hotch? I'm really not that tired," he assures, tone climbing towards a whine. He's not looking forward to the prospect of tossing and turning over a series of grisly nightmares, and he's hoping that _just this once_ , - is that really so much to ask for? - his stubborn boss will stand down and trust him to do his own thing. Even if his own thing is unwise.

No such luck, though, as Hotch cocks a dubious brow.

"Sure, you're not," Rossi mutters, sharing a look with the others. "Give it up, sleepyhead. You ain't laying a finger on those case files. Now chop chop. Get sleeping."

His brown orbs grow ever larger, features all but melting into gooey, naive scrumptiousness - and he knows it, too. "But I come up with my best theories at night."

Even Hotch is struggling. "That may be so, Spencer. But you'll only be doing more harm than good in the long run."

"You making goo-goo eyes at the ladies again, Pretty Boy?" Morgan quips, grinning as spies the tender looks on his friends' faces. "Come on," he directs to the women, "You can fawn over widdle Bambi here all you like later. Let the guy rest. He looks like shit."

"Thanks, Morgan," Reid replies dryly.

"What? Just keeping it real."

"Right," he scoffs. "Let's not pretend like you don't get jealous when I get all the attention without your baby girl to buffer your ego."

"Oh, please," the other man denies, rolling his eyes. "I could win them over anytime I want. I'd have these gals eating out of my palm in no time."

Peeping up at JJ and Emily's matching _thoroughly_ unimpressed expressions, the BAU's resident genius smirks and flutters a hand. "By all means, be my guest. Make my day, Morgan. You know how I love seeing you get shot down."

"Watch it, hotshot," Morgan counters. "I may not have your Doe-eyed Backbone Exterminator at my disposal, but I'm pretty darn delectable, too."

"Huh." Emily taps a finger to her chin. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you _haven't_ had access to a mirror lately?"

"Hey! Knock it off, Ems. What'd I ever do to you? I'm the innocent victim here, you know."

She shrugs. "Don't dish it if you can't take it. You're the one bragging about charming your way into a woman's pa-"

"I said no such thing!"

"We all knew that's where this was headed," Rossi butts in from the front seat. "Now, shut it the lot of ya and let that poor kid sleep. Don't make me come back there."

"Oh no," Morgan faux gasps, eyes widening in exaggerated alarm. He creates a barricade of protective hands in front of himself and slowly backs away. "Better not poke the bear."

"Time to run for your life, son," Rossi warns with a steely gaze. "If you've got any self-preservation left in you, you'd have shut your trap, oh, thirty-two seconds ago."

"That's assuming I'm the one who'd get knocked on his ass, old man."

Torn between amusements and irritation at their teasing, Hotch surges to his feet and attempts to play peacekeeper, "Alright, quieten down, everyone. I think that's enough for one day." He then makes his way to their youngest member and allows his brow to wrinkle in concern as he says, "I'm not kidding around, Reid. You need to rest up. We've got a long couple of days ahead of us."

Sliding down on the couch, Spencer salutes the older man and placates, "Fine. You're the boss."

This garners a reluctant smirk from their leader, who steps away before he is faced with any more temptation to roll his eyes.

Despite his words, ten minutes later, Spencer is still wide awake, smothering drowsy yawns and fiddling with his soft, fuzzy blanket while he rubs his cheek against Dr. Roar, whose coarse fur tickles his chin. Stifling a sigh, Hotch perches down beside the kid and begins ghosting light, soothing fingers through his hair and lowly humming under his breath - the same lullaby he used to sing for Jack, not that he'd ever acknowledge it. This isn't his first rodeo.

If anyone else notices, they make a pretty good show of pretending not to.

Slowly but surely, Spencer relaxes, taut lines of his body softening under the calming touch until he's practically boneless. His lids sink to half-mast before falling completely, chest rising and falling peacefully, with a phantom smile imprinted on his lips.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading. Thoughts?_

_Song is called, 'You'll be Okay,' and it's by a generally unknown, German singer called Michael Schulte._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Thoughts?
> 
> Song is called, 'You'll be Okay,' and it's by a generally unknown, German singer called Michael Schulte.


End file.
